


Holy

by Arowen12



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Breaking canon, But the Biblical too many heads and wings kind, Eldritch, Gen, Jon is an Angel, Kind of meta, M/M, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24252220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arowen12/pseuds/Arowen12
Summary: There's no beings of love or hope, right? Wrong. Sometimes the line between fear and worship gets a little, how do you say, muddled.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 26
Kudos: 170





	Holy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, I'm here with another TMA fic, I have stuff I should be working on but well here we are. Couldn't get this idea out of my head but its a bit of a mess. I hope you all enjoy!

There's no beings of love or hope, right? Wrong. Sometimes the line between fear and worship gets a little, how do you say, muddled.

See, throughout the world, there are cultures that well, they don’t worship fear, these aren’t cults, after all, rather they worship certain aspects of certain fears. Fire is destructive yes, but a beautiful destruction bringing change and new growth to forests. The spider in its web consumes pests that spread disease and its weavings have inspired some of the greatest artists. Even disease and pestilence has brought about great change, good change, the end of the feudal system, the dawn of the renaissance.

And the Eye? What is greater than the pursuit of knowledge which has thrust humanity forward from the first crackle of ignition. Religion adores the idea of being Watched, of being Known, there is something comforting in it, all your faults, sins, virtues laid bare to be judged. The mortifying idea of being Known is tender between two people and isn’t that also a form of Knowing.

The point then is this, yes there are beings, entities, whatever you’d like to call them, that habit that sliver of space stretched long and wide outside the world, watching, waiting, consuming our fear. They just so happen to sometimes consume devotion and love. Really? What did you expect of an inter-dimensional being? For them to stick to just one meal? No, these beings don’t differentiate between worship and fear, equally nourishing, their avatars, however? Those do.

Jon isn’t certain when he first feels the weight near the middle of his spine, it is something deep in his spine as if pulled right from the bone, twitching at his shoulder blades as he bends down to pick up a sheet of paper. Maybe it’s sometime before Jane Prentiss’ attack when he is sitting at his desk, the hum of the Archives around him, studying his phone and thinking (worrying) about Martin.

Sometimes, when Jon walks past the tiny mirror in his apartment, the one that’s dingy and smeared with fingerprints he’ll see something, a flash out of the corner of his eyes, something draping from his back and trailing against the floor. Sometimes, Jon twitches muscles in his shoulders he knew he didn’t have before.

In the aftermath, of the attack, of everything, Jon watches the holes in his skin begin to close leaving pale elongated ovals and circles behind and the only evidence he was ever injured is the blood, so much blood, everywhere.

Jon has a Bible. He also has a copy of the Torah, and the Qur’an, and whatever religious texts he could get his hands on. He’s not particularly religious, never has been, his Grandmother didn’t care for the organization preferring to pray at home to a little statue of the Mother Mary. Jon has never really seen the appeal; he’s always adored the stained glass and the echoes of a church. But well mostly, he’s always loved knowing, loved watching others, he used to sit at the malls for hours just watching people.

So, he has a copy of the Bible which he’ll flick through idly cross-referencing cases. During university, he took a class on the Esoteric and Religion taught by a wizened old woman in a hijab who would always wave her hands about. During his interview, Elias made an intrigued sound about it and mentions, “Learn anything interesting? I’ve heard the class is quite interesting.”

Jon mutters back platitudes about the differences between cults and religions.

He knows he is being paranoid, suspicious of Tim, even of Martin who probably would hesitate to hurt a fly, God knows he saves every spider Jon shrinks back from. But it's in his nature, he has to Watch, has to Know. Still, he tries his best, he leaves early and sits in a crowded café just watching, Jane who’s boyfriend is abusing her but she is hiding it from her friends, Tina at the counter is day-dreaming about a small cottage with a large garden, Robert, call me Rob, in the corner, is trying to avoid dealing with a particularly insufferable client.

Jon just Knows.

It shakes him, this Knowing, this invasion of privacy, and yet he wants more, wants to Know more. So, he sits in more cafes, busy parks, even in the canteen a few times. He always feels not exactly exhausted afterwards, but as if he’s working a muscle that’s never been used. Martin is, of course, happy to ply him with tea and threats of absconding with the statements if he doesn’t take a nap.

The tunnels are cold around him, pressing in on him. Jon’s always been a thin man, more bones than skin really and he recalls with a mourning sigh Tim picking him up and exclaiming, “Jesus Jon you’ve got hollow bones, bird bones,” he had passed Jon to Martin who has been blushing the whole time but agreed and even Sasha had been able to hold him with ease. Still, the walls seem to press in on him and though Jon isn’t touching them he swears he can feel a part of him brush against them.

Jon is in the middle of reading a statement when there’s a knock on the door and Sasha’s voice drifts through the door, “Jon? Why is it so bright in there? The light’s literally peeking through the door, you know how Elias is about fire-hazardous materials.”

He blinks and the light is gone, Sasha peeks her head inside narrowing her eyes at Jon, and for a second, she is _wrong_ , limbs too long, eyes too big, smile too wide. He blinks and it is gone just Sasha shaking her head and closing the door with a click. He keeps a closer eye on her after that.

Late at night, in between dreams where he watches statement after statement play out, Jon feels a tugging in his chest, through his chest. Something that beckons him, not _home_ but back like a child having wandered free of the group. He feels something that burns inside him, through him, the eyes that cover his body seem to turn inward seeing down, down, down.

He wakes up with dark feathers littering his bed, practically blanketing it, and blood trickling from the circular scars covering his body. He reads the Bible and then the Torah and then whatever else he can get his hands on but it doesn’t make it go away.

When the table is delivered, the same one from the statements, Jon watches Sasha watch it, he thinks of the tapes of her voice missing, of other Statements and he _Knows_. The stranger that masquerades as Sasha, that killed Sasha.

“Archivist,” The Distortion, Michael’s voice, slices through the air as Jon stares at the table, watching, waiting, it continues gleeful, “You’re Changing Archivist, _Becoming_ and so early in the game too.”

“I know,” Jon says quietly staring at Michael.

“I suppose you do,” Michael replies with a shrug and that’s when the sharp scuttling sound makes itself known. Jon turns and at the end of Artifact storage Not-Sasha stands, too long, everything slightly wrong.

“It seems the game is up Archivist,” Not-Sasha says with a tittering smile and then she lunges forward. Jon steps through the yellow door and into the tunnels, they are cold around him, pressing in on him, and yet calling to him.

Jurgen Leitner is and isn’t a surprise, Jon has _Known_ though he is not certain for how long. The Not-Sasha comes for them in a small room, but it is not too small and Jon knows what he has to do. The old man pauses as the Not-Sasha looms in the doorway and light begins to saturate the room, it is not a blinding light just very bright and when it finally dims the creature is gone and Jon’s eyes are _open._

Leitner is dead, his eyes burned out inside his skull. Jon stares at the man for a long time, he reaches down and carefully touches the man, a tape recorder clicks on and Jon savours the taste of the statement for a long moment before he rises to his feet.

Martin and Tim are fine, Jon checks that much before he’s gone.

He sits quietly in the back of a church during evening mass and watches, watches, and watches and feels the tug at his spine. He knows what it wants, what it will consume and he can’t not yet, not quite. He hears confessions, all the same, that night outside the church on the step then he goes back to Institute.

Martin wraps him up tight when he’s back, his arms almost wrap twice around Jon and he presses his head to Martin’s chest and thinks _oh_ at the flutter somewhere inside his chest and the warmth, it's so warm. He is tired, so tired, he thinks he has forgotten any state but exhaustion. But Martin knows this and he is the sandbags keeping back the flood of _Knowing_ , dampening himself in the process to protect Jon.

Elias calls him to his office and they stare at each other, there are no shadows of wings behind Elias, there are no eyes but the ones that don’t belong inside his skull. Jon wonders what Elias knows, there are whispers, from the Eye, the itch to erase this blind man who Sees.

“The police suspect you in the murder of Sasha,” Elias says and it sounds concerned, caring, but it isn’t.

Jon shrugs and that seems to irritate the man across from him as he continues, “It would probably be best if you went into hiding just for a little bit.”

He rises to his feet, can feel the shadows splay out behind him as he says, “I _Know_ you.”

“What have you done?” Elias demands rising to his feet, the air is pressurised, the vastness of space pressing in all around them. Jon doesn’t need air to breathe, but Elias does. The man slumps into his chair and Jon leaves, slots himself back into the Archives, presses his shoulder to Martin’s and tries to smooth the jagged edges of Tim.

He is being Hunted. Can feel her watching him as he sits in the back of church pews and listens to confessions, watches in the middle of busy streets. She is there, waiting, watching as Jon shakes hands with Jude Perry for information he already knows but needs to confirm. She decides to act when Jon is talking to the Vast, he feels a strange calling as gravity refuses to reassert itself, a pressure at the base of his spine, demanding, calling out.

Then Crew is dead and the Hunter drags him to her burial grounds a knife pressed to his throat heavy and the copper taste of blood filling the air. Basira stops Daisy, and they _Know_ each other and it is sweet in the air, haunting church melodies.

Melanie tries to sign a contract, Jon glances into her eyes, into her and tells her, “If you sign that contract the only way you’ll leave the Institute is without your sight,” Elias glares and she pales but nods, Jon adds, “You still have a bullet in your leg.”

“What?” Melanie demands and Basira is watching, Tim is glaring, and Martin, he just stares at Jon. Elias watches Jon for a long moment before he leaves, attempting to savage plans, Jon already _Knows._ They’re both playing a waiting game, Jon isn’t ready, not yet.

“I can remove it if you’d like?” Jon asks and tilts his head for a moment, the far-off vibration of the Unknowing is echoing through his head an antithesis to all that he is. Melanie hesitates before she nods.

Jon’s fingers are longer, they’ve always been long and thin but sometimes when he looks at them, they are elongated and sharp. He kneels by Melanie’s leg and glances up at her, a parody of supplication and says, “This will hurt a bit.”

He _Knows_ what to do and his fingers slip easily through layers of skin and muscle like one of the Flesh might as he carefully pulls the bullet out. Melanie is crying out tears streaming down her cheeks and she is staring wide-eyed at Jon, the room is bright dancing off the crown upon his brow and above his head.

She stays with Georgie, who presses a kiss to Jon’s cheek and lets the Admiral curl around his ankle.

Jon is captured, his eyes, his human eyes, bound beneath the cloth and the chair digs into the back of his spine pressing against where it waits. Time slips between his fingers, Jon cannot watch, cannot _Know_ , he just waits.

“My, my Archivist you’ve got yourself in quite the pickle,” Michael’s voice cuts through the air as he laughs and continues, “It’s a shame I was going to kill you but I don’t think that’s quite so necessary or possible anymore is it? You’re almost there.”

The blindfold slips away and Jon stares up at the being known as Michael with his _Eyes_. Michael titters and says, “None of that, off you go, I can’t promise where you’ll end up,”

Jon works feeling through his fingers and turns the knob of the door, it is locked. Michael frowns and the door open and Michael becomes or has always been Helen. She shifts as if settling into a new coat and studies Jon.

“Did you _Know_ that would happen?” She asks, soft, dangerous. Jon shrugs, there is too much to Know, too many possibilities they tangle before him, around him, choke him sometimes with a world brought about by Jonah Magnus’ ambitions.

Helen narrows her eyes before a smile slips across her lips and she opens the door with her long spindly fingers, “After you.”

When Jon returns to Tim and Basira yelling at Elias, he folds himself into Martin’s arms and closes his eyes. Martin makes a soft sound smoothing his fingers gently over Jon’s arms, brushing over the scars and sending shivers straight through him. It is strange to be so utterly _Known_ but he wouldn’t prefer anyone else (Martin could destroy him so easily). Martin makes a choked sound at that and presses kisses to Jon’s eyelids until sleep claims him.

America is strange, Jon runs into dead end after dead end searching for something, he _Knows_ what he needs to find but can’t quite reach it. The Hunters find him, Jon presses Gerry’s page into his pocket and lights a cigarette tasting the ash on his tongue.

In the storage unit, Tim cradles the explosives to his chest and Basira states, “Are we still going through with the plan to deal with Elias?”

“I’ll deal with him after,” Jon replies and they trade glances, he wonders if they can see how inhuman he has become, the way he feeds on watching. If they’re safe then Jon doesn’t care about his humanity, that is probably as human as it’s going to get.

The Unknowing is _Horrible_ it saps at his self, his very being trying to drain him of what he is, has always been, will be, it is the absence of familiarity, of sense, the world twisted up like a wet rag and squeezed.

Nikola dances around him, taunting, teasing, her fingers brush against Jon’s cheek and that is a mistake.

His _Eyes_ open and he _Knows_.

The explosions can’t touch Jon as wings burst from his spine in a shower of blood. He has _Become._ Monstrous, knowing, watching, seeing. He has died and been reshaped into the fragments of Jon that remain, a vessel for the Eye, for the Archive.

Tim’s skin knits together beneath his fingers and the chains of the Eye have snapped with his death, he is free and Jon presses a kiss to his brow in promise. Daisy, she is trapped and Jon reaches through the Earth, shatters the wood of the coffin and pulls her into the light, he leaves them there in the ambulance.

He is ready.

Jonah Magnus waits in the Panopticon, Jon does not travel in the same space as the others, he is there and Jonah Magnus, his body and his eyes, are there. The man stares at Jon with wide gleeful eyes and gasps out, “The Watcher’s Crown, we will be able to shape the world anew.”

Jon does not feed on fear. He is a different aspect of the eye, he is too long limbs, teeth and bones that don’t sit right, six wings draping from his spine, eyes covering his limbs, all of him, and a circlet of eyes above his head glowing.

He watches humanity. Once he might not have interfered, that is what they are meant to do, simply watch, but here, now. Jon acts.

Jonah Magnus does not have time to scream as Jon burns him out of existence, he does not have time for last thoughts, nor even confusion. He is simply gone leaving only scorches scratched into the floor as the Panopticon crumbles around him.

Jon waits there.

He is not sure for what. For who.

He has become something _other_ , monstrous, inhuman. It was to protect them, always, but the Jon that was is gone and there is only this being of too-long limbs, bones in his mouth like swords, a circlet above his head, and wings that drip black feathers.

“Jon!” Martin stumbles through the rubble, he is small now, or perhaps Jon is grown. He kneels in front of the one who _Knows_ him and Martin reaches forward and places a tentative hand on Jon’s cheek tears shimmering on his cheeks.

“I _know_ you,” Martin says, and he does, he knows how Jon takes his tea, why he is hesitant about the Web, his favourite movie from childhood. The wings fold themselves away, there but not, the circlet dims and the many eyes slide shut.

Jon sucks in a gasp, breathing again, it turns into laughter as he curls long fingers around Martin’s face and presses a kiss to his lips. Martin squeaks before he surges forward and Jon still _Knows_ can still see everything. But with Martin in front of him, he doesn’t have to.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed this interpretation of canon, I couldn't get the idea out of my head after reading a few fics, but mostly that one line about there being no gods of love kind of stuck with me. Comments are always super appreciated, thank you!


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